


breathe into your well

by turnyourankle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Louis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Harry, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rutting, Smut, i don't even feel bad about it, i guess that tag works?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: A rut bar. A place where omegas who are so inclined can link up with Alphas in rut. It's not a place Louis ever pictured himself visiting but in the hopes of having a memorable rut, it's where he finds himself tonight.





	breathe into your well

**Author's Note:**

> I keep writing one-shots when I should be working on my WIPs; very big character flaw, I know. Hopefully this is good enough to make up for it. Huge thanks to Nina for looking this over for me!

Louis circles his fingers around his glass-- his one permitted alcoholic drink.

It’s hardly anything, a watery beer that he’s been nursing ever since he stepped foot in the bar. It’s not even that cold anymore, warmed from the heat of his clutching hand.

He's not sure how Liam convinced him to come here. 

“I don't want to take advantage of anyone,” Louis had told him at the first suggestion of going to a rut bar. He knew Liam had been a couple of times, before meeting Soph, and while it wasn’t something he passed judgment on it felt a bit awkward to consider it for himself. He knew how he got around his ruts, and he didn’t have the best of experiences with his exes during them… the idea of anyone being specifically drawn to that felt bizarre. 

“They’re not tricked there, you know. Some of them just love rut sex. Puts them in charge or summat, I reckon, getting the pick of the litter and all that.” Liam shrugged so easily, as if it were commonplace. 

“So I would be the one being used is what you’re saying?”

Liam winked dramatically, a sly tug at the side of his mouth, “Fun right? A bit of a change of pace and all. You never had a good rut, you said.”

Louis’ eyebrows drew together at that, the statement sounding harsh coming from Liam. “No, that’s not what I said-- they’ve been fine.” A casual shrug of his shoulders. “Just nothing to write home about.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Liam leaned back, something like pity in his eyes. “If you’d had a good one, you’d know.”

So maybe Louis had hoped that Liam was right. 

It wasn’t fun, though really. Liam had to refer him to the bar and Louis was offered a probationary membership and now here he was, stood at the bar with a neutralizer patch on his neck and his one and only beer nearly done. 

It looks like any other bar, lights cut low and plush red walls with suggestive photography. There’s a backroom, he was informed, but it lays past the loos, sectioned off with a thick velvet drape. He has no intentions of checking that out, the base of his throat tickling with nerves at the thought of it. Of people going at a stone’s throw away. 

While sipping at his beer, Louis has been eyed by a handful of Os. A petite girl that bit down on her straw and tipped her head down in his direction, she wore a choker and pinched at it, drawing his eye to her neck. It was certainly forward.

Despite all that, no one actually approached him, and most of the people who eyed him provocatively have left or paired up with others. 

It's just odd. His neck itches where the neutralizer patch was placed. He feels exposed, which is entirely the point but at the same time he's not used to it. He's not used to ruts being desirable’; is used to dreading them a bit.

One drink, he’d told himself, and he’s almost done with it, the dredges barely coating the bottom of his glass. There’s still time for him to just lock himself up in his house and grit his way through it. 

“Haven’t seen you around before,” the comment comes from Louis’ right, and he turns to spot a bloke sliding onto a stool one over from him. He slides his empty glass towards the bar with ringed fingers. Louis follows the muscular line of his arm, throat going dry. 

He smells unmistakably O, and Louis has to clench his jaw to keep a shiver from taking over his face. The stranger’s neck is mostly covered by loose curls, and Louis has the sudden urge to push those aside and press his nose below his ear, instincts kicking in. How much stronger would he smell of Louis could get really close, get lost in it? He’s hit with a pang of jealousy and guilt. Both from the couples scenting in the corners, but also that he wants the same, just like every other knothead A out there.

Well. That was not an expected reaction at all. 

Louis frowns at his own glass, trying to remain neutral, “Do you take note of everyone then? Here often enough for that?”

“I suppose so. Great eye for detail, I've got.” The O gestures towards the empty seat between them. “You waiting on someone…?”

Louis shakes his head, and the bloke smiles wide before moving over to that seat. “‘M Harry,” he introduces himself, hand outstretched. This is all perfectly normal, Louis reminds himself as he offers his own name. People talk in bars all the time; he’s done it before. There’s no need to be weird about it. 

“What’re you drinking, then?” Louis asks, sticking to one of his go tos. Easy, casual, non-intrusive. 

“Blue Hawaii,” Harry almost sings-songs it, which adds to the innuendo. Louis can still taste the bitter grassy taste of his beer in his own mouth, imagining Harry slurping down sweet juice with a straw. Not any juice, either-- 

“Pineapple?” Louis sputters, mind immediately going to the rumors that it sweetens slick and come and how he wouldn’t mind finding out if that were actually the case with Harry. Christ. He almost wants to check if his patch is still fastened securely, his mouth almost watering at the thought.

“And coconut.” The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches before he purses his lips. “It’s good, hardly miss the liquor. D’you want one too, then?” 

Louis can only nod and Harry orders them two. The line of Harry’s throat as he speaks, the shadows that cut against his cheekbones are mesmerizing, and Louis sweeps the dregs of his beer. 

“I think I’ve got to--” Louis starts, fist closing around air. He needs to what exactly? Stop staring? Get his shit together? Gather himself for a couple of minutes, lest he put off Harry entirely?

“Loo?” Harry fills in for him and Louis nods. He knocks on the bartop before slipping away towards the back.

Louis turns the tap water as cold as it’ll go, and slips his wrists under the stream. If he stares hard enough he can convince himself he can see his pulse below the thin skin, but he knows that’s not true. He’s just feeling-- a lot. He didn’t expect it, really. To have such a sudden, instant reaction to someone. It would make sense, despite the patch, but still. It's never happened to him before.

He studies himself in the mirror, fixing his fringe and pinching at the bridge of his nose. This is perfectly normal. That’s what he’s here for, isn’t it? To find someone who wants to spend his rut with him? It’s no different from a regular hook up. Just that it’s… slightly more premedicated. But that means all parties know what’s involved. Which is good, he reminds himself.

When Louis returns to the bar, Harry's leaning in close to the bartender, lips moving but voice too low for Louis to make out. 

He tries not to be unsettled at the sight. Harry comes here often enough to know the clientele, of course he knows the staff as well. That’s perfectly reasonable. Louis isn't sure what he's done to deserve Harry's attention but he's not going to complain about whatever ounce he can get. Even if all he wants to do is talk. Louis can file away the imprint of Harry's face, plush mouth and hooded eyes. The flex of his bicep as he leans over the bar. It's enough, it'll be enough to get him through his rut on his own. 

His nostrils flare at the thought and he tightens his abs as he walks up to the bar again. As if he can't control himself he suddenly finds his hand pressed against Harry's shoulder, the fabric of his shirt silky under his touch. He stares at it, wanting to pull back but not wanting to bring attention to it.

Harry doesn't seem to mind, facing him with a bright smile. There's two blue drinks in front of him, garnished with pineapple slices and he pushes one of the glasses towards Louis. “There you go.”

“So you said you have a good attention for detail,” Louis comments, keeping his eyes trained on Harry as he suckles at his straw. 

“I'm a writer. It's a great place to study the way different people interact. Hormones are at incredible highs as well, which makes the experience all the rawer.”

Right, of course. A writer. 

“D’you want me to help you?”--Harry tips his head towards the rest of the room--”Could probably suss out those with an eye and nose for you.” He winks dramatically.

“I--” Louis swallows, trying to push the disappointment deep into his throat. “I think I just rather chat. With you, if you don’t mind. Feels a bit odd just...going at people.”

“Going at people,” Harry repeats, the laughter in his voice evident. 

“Didn’t realize that was so amusing.” Louis rubs the back of his neck. Not exactly uncomfortable, but still feeling a bit exposed. It’s why he doesn’t normally like his rut, he feels like he's been put on display at his worst. More dumb. Unable to read nuance and with resulting irrational mood flares. He’s not sure if Harry’s laughing at him or not, not sure how he should be reacting.

Harry must sense it though, his hesitation, from the way his palm lands heavy on Louis’ knee. It's calming in its simplicity. Louis can’t look away. Even as Harry continues to speak, “Just don’t quite take you for that type.” He taps his finger along the inside of Louis’ knee and Louis can swear he can feel each slight press through his jeans. “Those two over there, they’re the going at it type.”

Louis drags his gaze away from his knee, in the direction that Harry is looking. There’s two women in a booth. One is cradling the other’s jaw before trailing her nail down the column of the woman’s throat. It’s intimate, it is, enough so that Louis gulps down more of his drink. The sweetness makes his teeth ache.

“Not sure they’ll even make it to the backroom,” Harry adds, and Louis has to swallow. Right. 

“You can tell that just from...that?”

Harry’s mouth opens, his teeth bared as his bites down. As he ducks his head his loose hair sweeps down over his forehead; Louis itches to put it back in place. “Well, I’ve an advantage here. I know they’ve both been kicked out separately for being indecent.”

Louis frowns at that, asks, “Thought it was quite strict about that here?”

“Well, there were no consent issues or inebriation or anything of the sort so they just got a warning. If they don’t make it to the back this time though… well I hope they stick together because all the rut bars share their info.”

“Right.” Louis nods along. “So we’re just going to watch it happen?” 

“It’s what they want, isn’t it? To be watched?” The glint in Harry’s eye is palpable and Louis’ breath is stuttered after that.

They watch, for a bit. Louis mostly mesmerized with how Harry watches others openly. He fills Louis in on a few other couples, makes a correct prediction about a mohawked woman being a magnet for suits. They get second and third drinks, and while Louis is well aware that there’s no alcohol in them he still feels drunk, fingertips and lips almost numb. From Harry’s presence, no doubt. 

He doesn’t mind it, not one bit. Doesn’t mind filing away the way the light lands on Harry’s cheekbones and the way his dimples pop when he smiles wide and proper. The slope of his shoulder and the dip of his collarbone when he leans in closer to Louis to speak directly into his ear.

Which-- wait. “What was that?” Louis asks, certain he must’ve misheard something along the way.

Harry leans in close again, his breath warm along the shell of Louis’ ear. “Are you taking me home, then?”

Louis sputters, a cough caught in his throat.

Harry leans back in his chair, seemingly pleased with the response. “I figured you weren’t the backroom type of man.”

“I would say you’re correct about that,” Louis manages to say without too much trouble. “How did you-- I wasn’t thinking about that.”

Harry narrows his eyes at that and shakes his head. “Yes, you were. S’alright. As was I, sometimes business becomes pleasure, and all that.”

“Sounds like a line.”

Harry guffaws at that, slapping one of his thighs. One of his beautiful, long, muscular thighs that yes, Louis has been thinking about. Which Harry knew, and wanted. Louis takes a long breath through his nose, nostrils flaring even at the hint of Harry’s scent he can make out through the patch. “They become lines for a reasons. Sometimes they’re true.”

Louis swallows, not even wanting to fight. 

“Yeah, alright. I can--” he stares at their drinks, abandoned although they're still half full. He can’t remember the last sip he took, too busy licking his lips as he catalogued Harry's features.

No wonder Harry could tell Louis was hungry for it.

“It’s on my tab,” Harry says, and gets up. Louis can only blink, caught up in Harry’s whirlwind. It’s the last thing he expected from tonight really; finding a fit bloke who put even Alphas to shame with the breadth of his shoulders and the cut of his jaw and his sheer determination. But bloody hell if it wasn’t making his blood pump in the most pleasant of ways.

Harry walks ahead, and Louis can’t help but lead him on with palm in the small of his back. Louis can feel Harry relaxing into it. Louis gets the opportunity to study his silhouette in detail and when they got outside Louis stops, and Harry does as well, turning into him.

Louis licks his lips, eyes locked into Harry’s and the way they’re slightly parted. He doesn’t move, taking this moment to regain a bit of control. Harry’s tongue darts out, swiping over his lower lip wetly.

Just a few seconds longer….

Right on cue, Harry’s voice breaks through the quiet, “Please,” he asks, and it’s all Louis needs to hear before pulling him close. 

His mouth slots against Harry’s easily, an insistent press that Harry reciprocates easily, melting into him. Louis barely has to move, but he does anyway, stepping closer. His breathing is laboured as he sucks on Harry’s bottom lip; as plush and tender as expected. He tastes of pineapple and coconut but there’s a hint of something more, and Louis almost loses his breath trying to capture the taste. 

Harry’s fingers dig against his hips, and it’s impossible for them to be closer, but the desire is still there with every pull. 

“Fuck me,” Harry mutters when they pull apart with a smack, breathless. It's not meant to be heard but Louis agrees.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Louis trails his nose along the underside of Harry’s jaw, lips ghosting over the skin. He knows he can’t go back in; another taste would leave him completely out of control; he’s practically trembling with it as it is. 

“Take me home,” Harry says, voice low and determined as he pulls at Louis’ open collar. When did it get open, again?

It doesn’t matter. He makes an effort to put distance between Harry and himself as they hail a taxi. He watches Harry slip into the back, folding his legs as he slides along the backseat. Louis does his best to stay on his side of the car, staring out the window. 

He practically jumps out of his skin when he feels Harry’s pinky link with his, the simple touch enough to have his skin humming. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, but succumbs to the desire to glance in Harry’s direction.

He’s not looking at Louis, his profile sharp against the dark. A smile plays on his lips though, and although he looks calm, Louis can tell his chest is heaving. His careful, calming deep breaths matching Louis’ own. He spends the rest of the drive counting the beat of his heart to stop himself from pulling Harry close. 

They get out of the cab in a clear haze, or Louis does, at least. He’s hyperfocused, aware of each step and each door in the way of him letting go of himself. 

Harry seems to have calmed down a bit by the time they make it inside and the lock has been turned. He startles Louis by pressing his fingers against Louis’ neck.

“Left this on,” Harry comments. The patch is still there. Louis didn’t even feel it anymore, the pull towards Harry so vibrant and intoxicating, despite it. How was that possible? He knew, technically, of course, that it made sense, but he’d never let himself succumb like this. 

He drops his head to the side, allowing Harry to peel off the patch. He soothes at the skin with his thumb when it’s off, causing an itch that spreads throughout Louis’ chest. It crests when he feels Harry’s nose press against the spot, his inhale sharp and loud.

“Harry--” He wants to return the favour. He’s overheated already, but he’s still with it, still unwilling to scare Harry away. He remembers all the complaints he’s heard about Alphas in rut being inconsiderate, forceful and selfish. It’s not what he wants. His fingers itch to cover Harry’s skin, to feel him tremble under his touch.

“I really want to--” Louis starts, and his fingers ghost along Harry’s collarbone. His eyes trained on Harry’s pulse point. As if it’s calling to him.

Harry nods sharply, a mumbled assent following, and Louis doesn’t hesitate to duck and press his face against Harry’s neck. It’s intoxicating; stronger than he could’ve imagined, although that’s normal. He can’t seem to work his fingers as he inhales, too lost in the fog of everything _Harry_ that he has to pull away to work on Harry’s shirt.

The buttons are delicate, and he has to focus as he undoes them one by one. ”Thought you'd have me doing all the work.” There’s a slight shiver to Harry’s tone, and it makes Louis’ mouth water.

“No.” 

“Good. Have at it,” Harry says with a shrug of his shoulders, letting his silky shirt drop to the floor. There’s so much skin-- so much for Louis to touch and taste and bite-- his palms make contact with Harry’s chest, sliding down as he pushes Harry forward, making him walk backward in the direction of the bedroom.

Louis’ nails catch Harry’s nipples, and Harry gasps easily. He makes a move to unbutton his skinnies and Louis reprimands him, “Thought you wanted me to do the work?”

“...Yeah.” Harry’s eyes flutter shut.

“Bed’s behind you, you can sit down.” 

Harry follows direction, and lands softly on the bed. He blinks up at Louis in anticipation, hands closing into fists at his sides. 

Louis wants so much. Wants to suck on Harry's fingers, wants to bruise the pulse point in Harry's wrists with his mouth, wants each of his nipples at attention. It's what runs through his head as he undresses himself, eyes trying to cover each inch of Harry's skin.

“Yeah?” Harry asks on an exhale and Louis blinks in confusion. “I want that too,” he continues, flush high on his chest and oh. Louis was speaking out loud.

“What else?” Louis swallows thickly, trying to get himself back in control through the heady fog that surrounds him. 

He absentmindedly squeezes at his cock, heavy and nearly painfully hard. His knot has already started forming the base. He watches as Harry's eyes dart to it. His mouth drops open, tongue shiny and wet as it pokes out of his mouth. Like he wants it.

“Show me. How much you like it.” It's a struggle to speak, but he has to know.

Harry's fingers quickly undo his flies and he squirms his way out of his trousers and pants. “M wet just from smelling you,” Harry offers, twisting himself into his side as he palms his cock. 

Louis knees onto the bed. He places his hands on Harry's knee and he spreads his legs. 

He can see it; the way the inside of Harry's thighs glisten with slick. Still, it's hard to believe. “For me, huh?” He asks.

“It's so good. Should bottle it up. Or not because then no one would get anything done, would just be sniffing at a vial nonstop.” Harry's managed to turn himself into Louis’ side, open mouth pressed against his neck. “You'd make a killing.”

Louis leans back so he can study Harry's face and the sincerity there is like a shot to the chest. His irises intense and lips swollen, the way his nostrils flare. 

Even in this haze Louis remembers his ex complaining about his smell in rut; rank, he'd called it with a sneer, and here… Here lays Harry, hardly capable of getting enough. It registers, even through the feverish intensity of _need_ to be near Harry.

“One to speak, you are,” Louis sputters and the amusement shines through Harry’s half-lidded eyes. He rakes his teeth along Louis’ collarbone before flipping back down onto the mattress.

Louis can’t decide where to look, Harry’s laid out beautifully, his face contorted and chest heaving, and his cock, twitching against his hip.

“Can you--” Louis swallows, the palm of his hand cradling Harry’s hipbone. Even here, he’s smooth and hot, skin prickling in the wake of Louis’ touch. 

“Yeah?”

“Not touch?”

Louis’ request is met with a trembling breath, and Harry’s thighs squeeze together tightly. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

“Don’t think I can,” Louis mumbles. It’s not true. He _knows_ he can’t. His head already swimming with the reality of Harry sprawled out in front of him. He almost didn’t get this. “Can you-- On your knees?” He asks, and Harry stretches out before flipping himself over lazily.

He goes on all fours immediately, no hesitation. Louis’ breathing is ragged as he watches, and his hands skid along Harry’s side, culminating in a firm grope of his arse. It’s firm as he kneads at it, and normally he’d take his time-- tease Harry until he was whining and begging. But now-- his own fingers tremble being so close but not quite close enough leaving his entire body wired and ready for release.

Louis doesn’t waste any time spreading Harry open. He blinks once, twice, before burrowing his face against Harry’s hole. His cheeks and chin get wet immediately but he doesn’t care, the slick on his tongue like the finest drug. There's no hint of pineapple but it doesn't matter. He wants more, more, as he works his tongue against Harry’s twitching hole.

He hurts, all of him hurts, needing more. Harry’s whining so he can’t stop, keeps mouthing hungrily against Harry’s arse. He pulls aways to breathe, replacing his tongue with a finger. 

“Louis--” 

“Easy,” Louis says hardly recognizing his own voice. It’s almost like he’s speaking to himself. His eyes trained on the spot where his fingers pump into Harry, the way the slick coats his fingers. He hears a sound he doesn’t recognize, but realizes must be himself when Harry calls his name again. 

“Condoms?” Harry asks then, and it gives Louis a moment of reprieve. Yes, condoms. 

“Still, stay,” he says somewhat awkwardly but Harry stays put. There’s a box with condoms under the bed, so that’s what he goes for. His fingers are slippery as he tries to open the packet and he has to pause and gather his breath. 

He can’t even think about his cock right now; it feels like it’s pulsing when he slips the condom on. He only touches it to push against Harry’s arse, gathering slick around the head. Harry rocks back against him, his knees slipping a bit farther apart and that’s it-- he pushes inside on an exhale. 

Only once he’s fully inside does the trembling stop. Suddenly things are in sharp focus: the flex of muscles in Harry’s back, the slap of their bodies as he pounds into the perfect, perfect heat. 

“Harry--” Louis starts, gripping onto his hips, pulling him in to meet his thrusts. “You--?” And unfinished question that still prompts a nod against the pillows.

“Please,” Harry whimpers, and it’s like ice on his overheated skin.

“Yeah?” He snaps his hips and Harry’s breath cuts off with a hiccough and a nod. With each pump of his hips, his knot pushes against Harry’s rim. It’s a delicious catch, and Louis impatiently grinds closely against Harry’s arse, working his knot inside. Harry’s thighs twitch and his head shakes. 

Louis can’t stay upright anymore, draping himself over Harry’s back. Needing to be as close as possible, covering every inch. He might’ve asked Harry not to touch himself but he still wants to.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbles into Harry’s shoulder blade, mouth dragging against his sweat slick skin. His fist works over Harry’s cock. It’s perfect and he comes-- the intensity shocking a strangled groan out of him.

Louis keeps pumping at Harry’s cock in time with his pants. He feels Harry’s orgasm coming, with the way he tenses, breath hitching. Louis strokes Harry through it, and somehow manages to pull Harry into him as they fall to their side. 

He falls asleep with his nose pressed against Harry’s scent gland.

When Louis comes to again his limbs are all spent, but his cock is hard again. Harry insists on riding him, hair falling into Louis’ face as he does. They gasp into each other’s mouths, and if Louis didn’t know better he’d think Harry was as desperate as he was. 

He tips his jaw up asking for Harry’s mouth. Asking for their lips to meet again so he can pretend, just for a while longer, that that’s exactly the case. Both of them just as hungry for the other.

They fit in two more rounds, Harry joking that he might end up coming dry if they keep it up, and biting Louis’ shoulder when he apologizes. “Don’t you dare,” he reprimands, “apologize for something like that.”

“Don’t want to hurt you,” Louis says, jaw tensing. He’s left scratch marks and bruises and even with Harry being so wet, there’s no way he’s not tender. 

“Oh, baby,” Harry teases, nose wrinkling as he bares his teeth. “I know people, you know. Couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

He punctuates his statement with a pinch of Louis’ nipple, and he yelps in response, quickly flipping Harry onto his back. Harry could’ve stopped it, easily, his biceps flexing, but he goes with a smile on his face, dimples pressed into his cheeks.

Louis doesn’t feel as delirious anymore; not like his blood is about to boil and his groin implode. And still, meeting Harry’s gaze makes his stomach drop.

“You gonna write about me then?” Louis asks.

“No, hardly.” 

“Not...interesting enough?” He tries to keep it light, but he remembers what Harry said. Wanting to capture what fascinated him. It’s not that he wants Harry to write about him-- he just. Wants Harry not to write about him for the right reason. 

Which is really just another way of saying he’s being an entitled prick who wants Harry all to himself.

“Want to keep it all to myself,” the corner of Harry’s mouth twitches as he speaks, as if he’s sharing a secret. “You know I don't do this, really.” Louis’ frown must amuse Harry as he shakes his head, eyes reduced to slits. “My mate said it would happen, eventually. Hanging ‘round a rut bar, I’d find someone I wanted to go home with. Thought watching people getting on would get me hot and bothered.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Never even wanted to before, though.” Harry’s head tilts up just enough that the tip of his nose rubs against Louis’. 

“Can I-- Can I take you to breakfast?” Louis narrows his eyes before amending, “Or lunch, I guess? Not quite sure what time it might be.”

“Hmm, what if I want dessert?”

“That can be arranged,” Louis says, and is met with Harry’s knees squeezing tight around his hips. It’s a shame they’ll have to get dressed to leave the house.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
